


Paper Chase

by varenoea2



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Love Letters, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varenoea2/pseuds/varenoea2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson gets perfumed letters from a secret admirer. Who might she be? Watson has to go on a paper chase and follow her mysterious hints to get to the bottom of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own or know any of the characters or places in this fic. I'm only borrowing them to write fanfiction, and I get no financial profit out of it. Unlike SOME people who do this for a publisher (which I find morally very rotten. Make up your own charas if you want to make money, you lazy sods!)

„Let me see. It’s a lady, and not one you’re related to.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you blush over a letter. And you don’t seem to be angry or agitated, so I take it that you’re excited for some other reason.”

“Great work, Holmes. I didn’t know if it was written by a lady, let alone if I’m related to her or not.”

“No, but you thought it was written by a lady, and the content made you believe - or hope! – that you were not relatives.” Holmes looked at me over the breakfast table and grinned slightly. “Will you let me have a look at the handwriting?”

“No”, I said sharply.

“I’m sure I could help you figuring out what kind of a woman she is. I just bet you want to know yourself. A little look won’t do any harm…”

“It’s a love letter! Keep your hands off it!” I drew the paper away just as he was about to snatch it.

He looked hurt. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Don’t you think it would be out of place to let you read a love letter someone else has directed at me? And a very… intimate one, at that?”

“I see.” His tone implied that he very much did not see.

I breathed out and pinched my nose. It was too early to have a conversation like this one. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of letting him read the letter, to see him blush. Blush he would, I was certain of it. The letter was very intimate, as I said before. Even Holmes would have blushed over it.

I was bursting with curiosity, of course. It seemed that I had a secret admirer; and unfortunately she seemed keen on staying secret, since she had only signed with the words “Secretly yours”. But there was no way that I would ask Holmes to find out who she was. First of all, he was the last person with whom I would ever want to discuss romance; secondly, the lady would make herself known when she wanted to; and finally, it is not a very good basis for romance if your future lover finds you through a detective.

“I would never try to impose myself on your life”, Holmes said sincerely and got up. “I must be off.”

“What are you doing today?” I asked.

“Surely nothing remotely as interesting as your case.” He tapped his finger on the piece of paper, which I had placed upside down on the table. “I wish I could at least get a look.”

“No.”

“I could find her out in no time…”

“I know. I’m being cruel, but you’re not allowed to solve this one. It’s mine.”

“Hmpf. Treasure it. All I get to do today are my tax assessments.”

We laughed, and he left. This left me alone with the letter.

The handwriting on the letter and the envelope was small, delicate and round, written in black ink. The paper did not tell me anything at all - it looked like it had been taken from a package of typewriter paper. The letter was not perfumed, the stamp was a bland and uninteresting thing, picked without any intent of giving a message to the receiver. The postmark had been placed two days ago.

I looked for smears that could tell me if the writer was right- or left-handed, but there were no smears. The writing looked as neat as it could be.

I sat, gnawing my lip. Should I ask Holmes after all?

No. This was my riddle. Besides, the content of the letter gave me a few clues. It read:

_Beloved!_

_Or may I not call you beloved, since you don’t know who I am, or indeed if you want my love at all?_

_I must admit, your writings were the first thing to strike my interest; and the more I found out about you, the more I wanted to know. Now I find myself taken in by your looks as well; your voice, and the way you smile a little lopsided in the moments when you fail to find the words you’re looking for._

_If you would permit me to, I could spend four hours just looking into your eyes, only to imprint their colour into my memory forever. Or if this sounds boring to you, I could spend two hours staring at your eyes, and two staring at your mouth, to remember the shape of your cupid’s bow._

I could see that the lady had a strange sense of amusement.

_Or even better – I could spend hours looking at your hands, your shoulders, or your chest, or – or anywhere you will allow it. Oh say you do, say that I would be allowed to just sit beside you and look on you!_

_I’m not even bold enough to ask for a touch. I will wait until you reach out and take my hand. Until then, I’m staying in the shadow and wait for you to come and show me that my letter have not left you cold entirely._

_You might feel like a little blinded now, but if you want to see, meet me tonight, Monday, at seven. Do not fear for your reputation; we will not meet at a secret place but under everybody’s eyes, and besides, under the eyes of a saint who sees to it that no improper actions take place between us._

_Come and meet me – or if my affection bothers you, do not come, and forget all about me._

_Secretly yours._

What was I supposed to make of that? A secret admirer who wanted to meet me in public? And under the eyes of a saint?

Of course I would go. I was far too curious to ignore the lady; and, admittedly, I was feeling more flattered by the minute. I even began to wonder if she looked pretty.

But there was one obstacle to solve: where would we meet? A public place, under the eyes of a saint? There were at least a dozen places in London where this applied. I read the letter again, more thoroughly; and suddenly the strange sentence “you might feel a little blinded now” struck me. In this paragraph, the eye motif practically threw itself at me.

A saint, blinded and seeing, in public.

The only thing I could think of was the statue of St Paul by the cathedral. The place was public enough, and St Paul fitted the motif of being blinded, and then seeing again.

This riddle did not seem very hard to me so far. Well, if the lady knew me as well as she claimed she did, she should know that I was no match for Holmes.

 

What kind of a woman would only have become interested in me through the stories I published, and then met me in person – not only met me but watched me for long enough to get infatuated with the way I smiled – and still never have introduced herself in person?

Or was she someone whose acquaintance I had made before?

I had enough to think about while I waited under the statue of St Paul. It was three minutes to seven when a boy ran up to me. In his dirty hand he held an envelope – bland, uninteresting-looking, and not a single word written on it.

“That’s for you, sir”, he said, pushed the envelope in my general direction and turned to run away again. But I was not going to let him get away that easily. I held on to his jacket.

“Wait a second. Who gave this to you?”

“Uh, I’m not allowed to tell, sir.” He tried very hard to avoid my gaze.

“Come on, you must at least tell me if it was a man or a woman? Old or young?”

“No, sir, nothing at all. It’s pretty serious. I’m not allowed.”

He tore his jacket out of my hand, and was gone.

I stayed and had a closer look at the envelope. There was nothing written on it, no stamp, no seal. Strange. If you were going to have a declaration of burning passion delivered by a twelve-year-old boy, you had better seal it in some way or other, and keep him from reading it. Otherwise you could be sure that you made the boy’s afternoon.

I opened it and pulled out another sheet of typewriter paper. It was covered in numbers – written down in the neat, black ink handwriting I had seen earlier today.

I realized that my admirer did not intend to appear in the flesh, at least not today. Instead, she had fobbed me off with another riddle. I found this rude, but on the other hand, I was beginning to enjoy this game. I had found the right place today; I would solve the number riddle as well.

I went home thoughtfully.

TBC!


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To get closer to his mystery lady, Watson has to solve a literary riddle.

At quarter to eight, I was back in our flat.

“Did you have an interesting day with your secret belle?”

I smiled. “Very interesting. I think I like her already.”

“Really?” Holmes, who sat folded up in his chair, turned around to me. “Even thought you don’t know anything about her?”

“Maybe a little bit of your wisdom has rubbed off on me”, I said. “I don’t know much about her, but I’m not completely clueless. It’s a pity she likes me best – you would love her.”

“I will never find out if you won’t let me read her letters, will I?”

“You are going to get them when I’m finished with them.”

“Too generous.”

I took my place on the sofa and looked at the letter again. One side was scrabbled with numbers, but on the back, a few lines had been written.

_Beloved!_

_I could not be more delighted to see that you are not averse to my affections. The fact that you even managed to pick up this letter shows that you’re being greatly underrated. But I do not mind. Let the rest of the world admire Sebastian; I’d rather stick with Antonio._

“The key is in there somewhere”, I mumbled.

“What?” asked Holmes.

“Oh, nothing. She has given me some numbers, and I have to figure out what they mean.”

“Numbers?” Holmes craned his neck around the back rest of the chair. “Let me see. This is too hard for you. Can I give it a try?”

“Stay away from my love letters!” I cried out. “They’re mine, and I solve them. You have enough cases as it is. Let me have fun with mine!”

He turned away. Even the back of his chair looked hurt.

The solution had to be in the names she had dropped in the letter.

“Antonio and Sebastian”, mumbled I. “Antonio and Sebastian…”

“Twelfth Night”, said Holmes without turning around.

“Twelfth Night?” I asked incredulously. “When did you become interested in Shakespeare?”

“I’m not. We saw it two months ago, don’t you remember?”

“Oh. Yes.” Now I felt somewhat embarrassed. “Thank you, but I would nevertheless be very grateful if you kept your hints to yourself from now on.”

“Suit yourself.”

Now I remembered. Antonio, the faithful captain who stayed with Sebastian, even though he brought himself into danger by doing so; and Sebastian, one of the important main characters.

This could only be a comparison: the lady saw Holmes as Sebastian and me as Antonio. Why would she use this comparison, of all things?

“But you do know what happens with love letters from beautiful ladies in Twelfth Night, don’t you, Watson?”

“Be quiet.”

“They turn out to have been a joke, made by someone ugly.”

“I’ll remember this next time you want peace and quiet”, I hissed.

I looked at the numbers again. The key to the solution had something to do with Twelfth Night, I knew now.

2.4 – 24-28 was one of them. I chewed my lip, and then went to my room to fetch the printed version of the play that was lying on the lowest bookshelf I had, dusty and neglected. Then I went to act 2, scene 4, lines 24 to 28.

_What kind of woman is’t? – Of your complexion. – She is not worth thee then. What years, I’faith? - About your years, my lord._

My ears began to glow. This seemed to make sense. She was giving me hints to her person now. Well, a little younger would have been nice – but her interesting mind made up for this.

Now 3.1. – 148-149.

_I love thee so that, maugre all my pride, nor wit nor reason can my passion hide._

Yes, I could tell as much.

3.4 – 277 made me blush again.

_Marry, I’ll ride your horse as well as I ride you._

I became more and more sure that I wanted to meet this remarkable lady, even though (I have to admit, I became a little high-spirited) her riddles seemed a little bit too easy for me now.

3.4 – 209 told me: _A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell._

The last number, 3.3 – 49, was the most enigmatic one: _To th’ Elephant!_

But this was the only hint I was going to get.

I sat down and thought, and silently swore. If Holmes had been given the paper, he would have solved it in no time, and not only told me who the lady way, but also her weight, hair colour, and the brand of her corset.

I tried to think of a pub called “The Elephant”, just like in the play; but the only thing that kept coming to my mind were the elephants in the zoo.

If the lady had not given me a time, this meant that whatever she had for me was deposited, and could wait. It would be best to give the elephants a try, first thing in the morning; and if the elephants would not get me anywhere, I could try to find a place with a similar name.

 

The next morning, while I was having breakfast, Holmes stumbled in. His eyes were bleary, and he staggered against the door frame.

“Morning, Holmes.”

“Can’t you at least pretend to be a little tired as well? You didn’t sleep all night, after all! Threw yourself around for hours, with your bed springs creaking, and getting up and rumbling about in the living-room... and now you’re sitting here and looking fresh as a daisy!”

“I couldn’t sleep because my mysterious lady kept me up all night. Why didn’t you sleep?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I think there was a love-sick rhinoceros going on a rampage in the flat, or that’s what it sounded like. And I thought about your woman, as well.”

“And what was the result?”

“I know a lot more about her than you want to let me know. But I’m not telling you. I’m not allowed.”

“Thank you.”

“So what are you doing today?”

“I’m visiting the zoo before I go to work.” I smiled. “Maybe I find the rhino that made all the noise last night.”

Holmes glared at me with his mouth open and shook his head. “Love should be prohibited by law, you know.”

 

I was one of the earliest visitors. The zoo was still almost empty. While I made my way to the elephant house, I repeated everything I knew about the mystery lady.

She must have been at the theatre when we had seen “Twelfth Night”, and watched us. Otherwise, how could she have known that I knew the names of the characters? Now that I thought about it – I had spent the entire intermission trying to explain the effects of some embarrassing venereal diseases to Holmes, and of course I had been somewhat limited in the vocabulary I could use, even though we were talking very quietly. So the lady had seen a lot of the self-conscious smile which she seemed to like about me.

She was my age and, apparently, had a similar skin colour to mine. (At least I hoped that this was what she meant by complexion – in the worst case she would have a moustache as well.) But there were pale people at every corner, this was England, after all.

I desperately tried to think of any women I knew who might fit the description. I had had a few patients recently who were the right age, but I did not remember seeing them at the theatre.

Slightly discouraged, I turned around a corner and went to the elephants.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've never done so much research for a fic in my life. Worth it!

The elephant house was huge. Where should I start looking? The only reasonable idea was to start at the entrance. My admirer must have considered that I could only begin there. She wanted me to find her next message, after all.

Looking straight forward, I saw a low wall, and above it an iron grate up to the ceiling, with the elephants behind it. Even the elephants looked a little sleepy at this time of morning.

“Hello”, I said and leaned against the handrail. One elephant opened an eye and looked at me, then slowly closed his eye again. “I wish you could talk. I just want to know what she looks like.”

The tip of a trunk came through the grate and began to sniff me.

“I’m so sorry, I haven’t brought you anything”, I said and laughed. Meanwhile, I looked to both sides. The house was pretty empty – there was only the wall with the grate, a few benches, and the handrail. Of course I could just have searched everything, looked at all the benches closely, and see if anything was hidden in the handrail. But to search the whole room would have taken hours, and I had to get to work – to say nothing of the embarrassment if somebody was watching me.

On the far right, there was a keeper sweeping hay off the floor, but he was not paying me any attention.

What would Holmes do? Probably sit down and think, first of all.

I sat down, and thought. There were about a hundred places where you could hide a message in this room. It had probably not been given to one of the keepers, because they had changing shifts, and the message needed to be there when I came by. And it was quite impossible that one of the elephants had concealed the letter about its… person.

But it said “To th’ Elephant”, and this was the only information I had. If my mystery lady knew what she was doing, this was also the only information I was going to need. The Elephant, with a capital E, and only one elephant. If “the Elephant” meant a pub or a similar kind of place, the name would not be enough to help me find a single piece of paper. No, “the Elephant” had to be a very unmistakable place.

There were six elephants in this house. Which one would be capitalized, and why?

I went back to the grate and looked at the elephants for a little longer. Then it suddenly struck me. Capitalized meant large and important, and unmistakable. There was one large and unmistakable male in the cage, called Jumbo, who was a darling of the public, and as far as my knowledge went, the largest elephant in captivity.

I thought I saw him lying in the background of the cage, apparently still sleepy. I could not go to him, of course, but there was a brass sign attached to the low wall on the left, which gave the visitors some information about his age, height, and traits of character. The headline said “Jumbo” in big, unmistakable letters.

I looked at the keeper from the corner of my eye, as I was about to do something silly. But he seemed to be busy with the floor. So I walked up to the brass sign and knocked my knuckles lightly against it. It sounded hollow, there had to be a space behind it. But from above, I could not see anything suspicious.

I looked at the keeper again, and then quickly knelt down and looked at the sides and the bottom. And sure enough, there was a tiny bit of paper hanging out at the bottom of the sign, so small that you could only see it from below. I carefully took it between my fingers and started to tug. I had to pull quite gently, because the paper was jammed between the brass and the rough stone wall behind it, and I did not want to tear it.

When I had finally eased it free and unfolded it, my heartbeat began to increase, and I could feel my ears warm up again. It was the familiar handwriting of my mystery lady.

I looked up, and saw the keeper staring at me.

I cracked a smile of embarrassment and quickly left the elephant house. Outside, I fell onto a bench in the sunshine. Not bad, Watson, not bad at all. I had often seen Holmes go into a feverish rush over a case, but only now could I understand how he felt.

With the ruffled piece of paper safely tucked away in my pocket, I went to work.

 

Over supper, I could not help but pull the new letter out of my pocket and wave it.

”You see, Holmes”, I said. “The numbers were not too difficult for me. I found the next letter.”

Holmes pulled a sour face. “It’s not a sign of good character to show me your progress, but not your clues.”

I choked on my food. It was quite some time before I could talk again, and then I decided that it would be wise to say nothing at all.

Holmes violently bit off a piece of bread and chewed it with the energy of a steam engine.

“Don’t worry, you’re not missing out on much”, I comforted him. “Her riddles are much too easy for you. I don’t mean to brag, but they are actually a bit too easy for me.”

“How’s that possible?” he asked, and looked genuinely surprised.

I smiled serenely and counted to ten in my head. Then I said: “Do I detect a little jealousy in you, or in the way that you’re trying to insult me?”

“No, no, I don’t want to insult you, it’s just…”

“Can’t you be happy for me? I’m just having my fun.”

“Hm.” He began to chew his lip. Then he said: “I want to be honest with you. I don’t like how emotionally involved you are getting with this affair. You’re even using a new razor blade even though your old one wasn’t even four days old – no, don’t contradict me, you know better than that – and you’re constantly smiling when you think nobody is looking. You seem to take the whole thing seriously!”

I laughed. “And where’s the harm in that?”

“I’m just trying to save you from disappointment. How likely is it that your mystery lady’s looks are even to your liking?”

“I’ll see. And besides, looks are not the only feature that makes a woman interesting.”

“I think your expectations are too high.”

“Leave my expectations to me”, I said and smiled. Holmes didn’t say another word.

 

I spent the evening alone in my room and tried to make sense of my latest love letter.

_My wonderfully astute beloved,_

_you have made it this far, and I have no doubts that you are also going to solve the last two conundrums I have placed for you – and I promise, I will not string you along any further after this. The next letter you find gives you a place, and the one after that will give you my name, and the address where you can find me._

_So far I have sent you to the saints, and the beasts; now I am going to lead you into temptation. I need a man who will go into a lion’s den to find me. You will have to walk past the flowers and the bees as they go about their business, and the best place to see the bees visit the flowers is a chrysanthemum, at this time of year. But do not worry, you will go in there safely if you know the name of the deadly shades in the night. When you have crossed the lion’s den, you need to find the gold at the bottom of a flower, and there you also find your next letter._

_I can hardly wait to see you, to get close enough to smell your skin, to feel your moustache tickle my lips when I kiss you, to draw you into bed and make war with your nightshirt, until I have freed you. Oh, do you know how jealous your nightshirt makes me? The missing button at the top, did you lose it? Or did someone else rip it off in a passionate romp that you should have enjoyed with me, me, me and nobody else?_

_Do not let me wait too long._

_Yours secretly, but no less ardently._

“Wonderful”, I said out loud. “A botany lesson. I just hope she doesn’t expect me to be any good at floriography.”

With a heavy heart I walked back into the living-room.

“Holmes, do we have any books on the language of flowers?”

Holmes looked up. “I shouldn’t think so. But the library must have some books.”

“Do you happen to know what chrysanthemum means?”

He shook his head and looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “How would I know? I never get any bouquets I have to decipher, and I’m grateful for it.”

I looked at my watch and sighed. “Too late to go to the library now. But Ms Hudson might know something… she is a woman, after all.”

“The last time I looked, she was, yes. Not that I looked very closely, but…”

I walked out of the flat, down the stairs and through the corridor to Ms Hudson’s door. Upon my knocking, she opened.

“I’m sorry to disturb you”, I began. “But do you know anything about the language of flowers?”

She smiled incredulously and shook her head. “No. I never had time for this kind of thing.”

“You don’t happen to know what chrysanthemum means?”

“Love? As far as I know, half of all flowers seem to mean love.” She shrugged and watched me with interest. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you need it for?”

“I’m trying to solve a riddle in the Times”, I lied, and continued without much hope: “I’m also looking for [i]gold at the bottom of a flower[/i].”

Ms Hudson smiled. “Saffron. It grows in crocuses, and it’s yellow and very expensive. You don’t get much more golden than that. If you had ever read any cook books, you would know about saffron.”

This answer was the last thing on earth I had expected from her, and it took me a few seconds to overcome my bafflement. Then I thanked her and ran up the stairs again.

“Forget about the language of flowers, Holmes, I think I know what she means!”

“I had already forgotten it before you…” This was all I heard, because I went back into my room and studied my letter again. My lady was not interested in floriography, she stuck with her puns, as she had done before.

The “deadly shades in the night” could only be “deadly nightshade”, i.e., belladonna.

From what I knew now, I had to find an ill-reputed place called “Chrysanthemum”, use “belladonna” as a code word, and find “saffron”.

“Holmes? Do you know a place called Chrysanthemum?”

Holmes gave me a long, strange look. “Yes?”

“How do I get there?” I looked out of the window. Outside, rain was pouring from the sky, but I would be damned if I let this fact keep me inside.

“What on earth do you want there?” asked Holmes slowly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not doing anything that might bring me any embarrassing diseases. I just want to go there and look around.”

“Yes, I can tell you where it is”, he said slowly. “But you have to let me come along.”

“No.”

“It’s not safe. Watson, you don’t even know what a dangerous water London is. There are people in this place who won’t ask if you want to do anything that might get you embarrassing diseases, and worse. There’s a good boy, don’t go there.”

“Just be nice and tell me the place”, I begged. “I don’t need you to protect me. From what I gather, it’s a brothel, and all I need to do is go through and find someone or something called Saffron. Nobody is gong to hit me over the head with a truncheon because of that.”

“No. I’m not helping you with such an insane fool’s errand.” He shook his head. “Especially not when it’s dark.”

“That doesn’t keep me from going. I would be safer with your advice.”

Holmes gave me another one of these long, dark looks. “It is a basement stave, and it has a green lantern over the door. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

Who was Holmes to tell me that a mystery was not worth the risk?

“If you’re not back in three hours, I’ll feel impelled to go looking for you”, he said before I left.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson dives into the underworld.

Where to start? Soho would probably be the best place. The only trouble I might have there would be to pick the right brothel.   
  
A very pretty, blond girl was among the first who did not just watch me, but walked up to me. “Honey, is this what you’re looking for?”  
  
I smiled a little desperately as she lifted her neck scarf and showed me her taut cleavage. “No, thank you, it’s very nice, but I’m looking for the Chrysanthemum.”  
  
She lifted her eyebrows and pulled her lips into a pout. “Oh. Too bad.” With these words, she turned around and left me standing in the rain.  
  
“Wait!” I called after her. “Do you know where it is?”  
  
“The Chrysanthemum?” she said, and turned around halfway. “Yeah, I do.”  
  
“Well, are you going to tell me?” I asked impatiently.  
  
“Hmmm… is it worth the time?” she asked coyly.   
  
I believe I must have used some strong words while I produced some small change from my pocket. She smiled and winked and took the coins, and gave me a long description.  
  
“How do I spot the door?” I asked, to find out if she was being honest.  
  
“It’s got a green lantern over it”, she said. “Can’t miss it. Good luck to you, sweetheart, hope you find what you’re looking for!” Then she winked at me again in her impudent way, and I left, wondering what she was hiding from me.  
  
It took me five more minutes in the pouring rain to find the street she had described. It was long, and winding around dozens of houses. I could never see further than a few yards, and I have to say, the street began to scare me. If someone was following me, I would not even have noticed.  
  
But then I saw a decrepit basement stave with a weak, green lantern hanging in a corner over it. Gladly I quickened my pace and climbed down the stairs.   
  
Upon my knocking, nothing happened for a while, but then I heard slow, dragging steps, and a little flap was opened. “Yes, squire? What do you want?”  
  
“Uh”, I said. “In. In would be nice.”  
  
“And what do you want in my basement?” asked the voice behind the door gruffly.  
  
“I was hoping for… belladonna?” I ventured to ask. If I made a fool of myself, at least nobody would know about it, except for the man behind his door.  
  
But the door opened. “Come in.”  
  
I stepped into a corridor which was brightly lit. The guard by the door, who I had thought to be old and rickety, was about 6’5 and as broad as a wardrobe. I tried to act naturally and walked past him into the corridor.   
  
At the end of it, there was a heavy leather curtain. I had no experience with brothels, and I could not tell if this was the usual way, so I stepped right through it. On the other side, there were carpeted stairs, and things looked much more glamorous than the decrepit door suggested.  
  
The room looked like a medium-sized music-hall, the tables looked almost entirely occupied, and on the stage there was a singer, dressed in a shining red silk dress and singing in a smoky voice.   
  
“What the…”, I gasped. This singer had all the attire of a lady, but was most definitely not one. And coming to think of it, the brightly-clad women who walked around between the tables and occasionally turned their attention to one of the gentlemen in the audience, were pretty definitely not real ladies either. “This is a… Mollies club?!”  
  
The bouncer behind me chuckled. “You got a sharp eye, squire!”  
  
I breathed out and shook the rain off my shoulders. “Fine.”  
  
“Want to leave?”  
  
“No.” I straightened my spine. “I like it here.” With as much dignity as one can have with a giggling doorman behind one’s back, I stepped down the stairs. I was ready to face any atrocity to continue my search.  
  
Compared to the streets, it was almost pleasant in here – none of the faux ladies tried to catch my attention with more than a coquettish face, which clearly said that she would devote her attention to me, but only if I wanted to. Once more, I was left to my own devices, and I asked one of the waiters – he wore more face-paint than any of the prostitutes I had seen on the street – for Saffron. He told me that I could not see her now, and that it would be best if I just sat down.  
  
The singing not-quite-lady left the stage under a thunderous applause. My neighbour on the table had another dressed-up boy on his lap, and the boy’s feathery hair decoration was getting into my face. I tried to free myself, from it, when a singular sight on the stage caught my attention.  
  
It was woman, a genuine female. In fact, there was quite a lot of her; and she had been around for a long time as well. She wore just as much face-paint as the painted men, but her physique told me unmistakably that the front of her corset was not filled with groceries but real flesh.   
  
Her hair was a rich yellow, which could not possibly be a natural colour. There was, I realized, no question as to who she was. She had to be Saffron.   
  
The music began to play slowly, and now a thing happened that I had secretly feared: the fat old crone began to dance lasciviously to it, cover herself with a fan or let a piece of her calf flash out from under her skirt. While around me the men began to whistle and laugh, I sat with my eyes wide, and hoped for the ordeal to be over soon. But alas, she was not going to let me off that easy – she came down the stairs to the stage, and walked through the audience, towards me.  
  
The thirty seconds that she spent tugging my necktie and thrusting her fruitful bosom into my face I will always remember as the most trying ones in my life. The rest of the audience, however, seemed to enjoy her performance. It did not last long, and she left via the stage, waving with her fan all the way. A young juggler with three torches took her place.   
  
I was still sitting paralyzed, when the waiter from earlier came back and tugged my jacket. “Saffron wants to see you now.”  
  
I turned my face towards him and considered running away, but then I thought about my sweet love and her even sweeter letters, and got up and followed him like a lamb to the slaughter.  
  
He led me through a corridor, past the stage, and into a room with a red-painted door.  
  
Saffron was sitting beside a mirror, which was illuminated by two gas lights on the sides. Up close, her abundance of physicality looked even more frightening.  
  
“Come closer, luv”, she said, and her voice sounded scratchy.  
  
I greeted her politely, and ventured to go nearer. “I was told to come and visit you”, I said, “but please don’t ask me to explain it, because you will think me a fool.”  
  
Saffron grinned, and a large gold tooth shone in the place of one of her canines. “I know, luv. I know.”  
  
“You… you are not the lady who wrote me all these letters?” I inquired carefully.  
  
For a moment, her mouth fell open. Then she began to cackle. “Oh no, that’s a friend”, she gargled.  
  
“Does she… does she also work in your… business?” I asked.  
  
Saffron cackled even more. Her cleavage was shaking like jelly. “No, no, luv, that pretty little thing don’t take her clothes off for no one. Well, except you!” She patted on a chair next to her own, and I sat down.  
  
“Can you tell me more about her?” I asked.   
  
“Well, a little bit”, replied Saffron. Her cackling had mostly abated, but occasionally she was still shaken by sudden laughs.  
  
“What does she look like?”  
  
“Somewhat on the skinny side”, said Saffron, and then another cackle nearly made her fall off her chair: “She ain’t got much of a bust, if that’s what you want to know.”  
  
“Hair? Eyes?”  
  
“Grey. Her eyes, not her hair. Hair’s brown.”  
  
“She’s not taken, is she?”  
  
“Well, I don’t know who gets to take her”, said Saffron and winked her eyes – even her eyelids were fat. “But nobody’s named or claimed her. What she wants with a good boy like you, I don’t know.”  
  
I blushed. I was in the wrong place here, and playing detective when I was not really one – I knew it. But I had made it this far, and this counted for something.  
  
“Do you have a letter for me?” I asked.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, would you please give it to me?”  
  
“Come and get it.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?!”   
  
“It’s in my corset. Left cup or right cup, you get two tries.”  
  
I looked at the monstrous woman who was about a foot shorter than me, but had a lot more body mass. Her cleavage looked as if it had been filled with pancake dough, and by age, she might have been my mother, with a little luck.   
  
“I can’t do it”, I heard myself say.  
  
“Oh come on, pretty boy. Just a little touching won’t hurt. You’re a doctor, you don’t mind.”  
  
“That’s different.”  
  
Saffron leaned closer. “I can show you a few things that make the trouble worthwhile.”  
  
“No, you’re very kind, but I’m not going to fetch the letter out of your corset!” I defended my virtue.  
  
“That’s final?” she asked with narrowed eyes.  
  
“Yes. It’s final.” I swallowed, and thought about the unknown lady whom I was saving myself for. “I can’t do it. Not for love or money.”  
  
“Fine. Here you go, luv.” Saffron opened a drawer, took a piece of paper out, and handed it to me. “You really are a good boy.”  
  
“What… what is that?” I asked carefully.  
  
“Your letter. You didn’t think I was carrying a letter around under me breasts for days on end, did you? I know, it’s a dumb question, but you’ve never tried it, have you?”  
  
I exhaled loudly with relief, then I laughed. “I understand. She wrote that she was going to lead me into temptation.”  
  
“You poor thing”, said Saffron, shaking her head. “You’re in for something.”  
  
She ushered me out through a different entrance, and I ran out into the pouring rain, once more happy and filled with a special feeling of accomplishment.  
  
  
  
The next time I met Holmes, he was sitting by the breakfast table, and he looked more miserable than ever. His chin supported into one hand, he looked up at me and said: “Watson, I’ve thought about the whole thing. You need to let it slip.”  
  
I patted the pocket of my waistcoat, in which last night’s letter was tucked away, and smiled. “Why?”  
  
“I find it suspicious.” There were dark bags under his eyes. He licked his lips nervously. “Don’t you think it might be someone who means you harm?”  
  
“If somebody meant me harm, all they would have to do would be to wait outside the door and hit me over he head”, I replied.   
  
“But… luring you to different, dark places and making you fulfil strange tasks… has it never struck you that there might not be a lovely lady at the writing end of the affair?”  
  
“But rather?”  
  
“Well, a man for example?”  
  
I laughed out loudly. “Look, Holmes. Do you really think a man who wants to make illegal advances would send passionate letters to me, despite the fact that I live with a detective, who might go after him?”  
  
Holmes sighed. “Most people are stupid, in my humble experience.”  
  
“What’s your experience with love?” I asked him.  
  
He snorted and turned his head to the side. “That is not the question here.”  
  
“Yes, it is. I asked you.”  
  
“And I say I don’t have much to tell you. Anyway, I urge you to leave this foolish business alone, and immediately.”  
  
“I’ll invite you to the wedding”, I said, just because I knew that it would upset him.  
  
He lifted his head and stared at me as if I had lost my mind. “Are you crazy?!”  
  
I laughed and got up. While I did, I pulled the latest letter from my pocket, and waved it. “With any luck, I’m going to find out the name of my belle tonight.” I turned to walk out of the door.  
  
“Let her be!” Holmes bellowed after me. “No good will come of it!!”


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson finally gets wise. Thanks for all the comments, you guys, I hope you like the last one!

My last set of instructions was short and simple:

_Beloved,_

_I know that at this moment, all you can think about are birds and bees. I assure you, it is the same with me! But walk right past the birds – that is, leave them to the left – and only pay attention to the bees. Then you can not fail to find me._

_If, however, you should still think better of it and not want the favours I am offering you, just forget about the whole affair. This is my last letter; if you choose not to come to me after all, I will never trouble you again._

_Yours secretly, and soon, I hope, physically._

I had to wait until evening before I could follow her last trace, but I racked my brain all day. I had harboured a certain suspicion all day: Birds and bees in one place could not possibly be at the zoo, or a similar place. It had to be a place with either metaphorical, or dead birds and bees. Dead birds and bees could only be found in a museum. There was the new natural history museum in Exhibition Road. It could not do much harm to begin there. From what I had heard, they had quite a big collection of insects.

It was raining again. But my eagerness was stronger than the fear of wet clothes. Instead of going home, I made a little trip to the museum.

I had not seen it from the inside before. It was late, and the light that came in from the sides of the ceiling was only dim. There were very few visitors walking through the central hall when I walked in, and most of these seemed to be heading out.

Suddenly I felt like I was being watched. I turned to find out where it was coming from. There was a silhouette pushing through the door, past the visitors who were going out. For a second I waited, but the figure hurried through the hall without paying me any attention. I shrugged.

A sign told me that the birds were to the left. My heart began to beat faster. Leave them on the left, and go to the bees. I followed the signs to the insect gallery.

From the corner of one eye, I saw a shadow as I walked down the corridor. I turned quickly, but it was gone before I could be sure that it had really been there. A feeling of trepidation came over me. Had Holmes been right all along? Was someone following me now?

I carefully stepped into the insect gallery, and tried to keep an eye behind me and the other in front of me. Damn, if Holmes had been here, he would have known how to do this. As for me, I only hurt my eyeballs.

Well, it might just as well be Holmes, who had followed me to keep an eye on me. I sounded like the kind of thing he would do. But if it really was Holmes, I told myself, I would not even have seen him.

My heart nearly skipped a beat when a shadow moved behind me. I turned around quickly, but the man now seemed to be very interested in a box of insects. This was becoming more and more uncanny. I began to regret that I had gone unarmed.

I walked along the glass cases, until I found one which displayed bumblebees and honeybees, drones and queens and worker bees.

Now I felt the presence of another body behind me.

”Holmes”, I said loudly, to shake the fear off me. “Stop this. It’s childish.”

Behind my ear, a voice rasped: “I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”

I began to grow angry. Nobody would push me around like this.

“Like hell I will”, I said, knelt down, and ran my hand along the wooden underside of the cabinet. A sharp kick pushed my arm away. I jumped to my feet and staggered two steps back.

The stranger followed me. His coat, cap and high collar hid nearly everything about him. “Go home, little man. You don’t want to get involved in this.”

I breathed deeply, and steadied my feet against the ground. “You are going to let me through to the cabinet this instant.”

My opponent simply stood there in silence. There was nobody else in the insect gallery.

I walked past him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me away. His other arm took a hold of mine.

“Help!” I cried out. There were still people in the museum, somebody way bound to hear me.

I struggled against him until one of my arms was free, and threw my cane in his general direction. It hit him on the arm, and he let go of me instantly. I even heard him utter a loud groan.

Steps came from one end of the gallery, and an attendant appeared. While I turned my head to see him, the stranger disappeared down the other side of the hall.

“What’s going on?” gasped the attendant.

I caught my breath. “A man tried to… to pick my pocket”, I lied quickly. “Then he ran off, in this direction.”

“Hm. He could be out the door by now”, reckoned the attendant. “You wait here, I’ll have a look where he’s gone.”

As soon as the attendant had run off, I knelt down and ran my hand along the underside of the cabinet again. Then I looked, but the fact remained – there was nothing there save a little bit of glue, which looked as if there might have been a paper attached to it.

Well, of course. If somebody wanted me to leave the affair alone, why would they leave my next clue in place?

I walked around the cabinet, but the empty glue patch on the bottom of it told me everything I needed to know. My lady had written that if I would not find her after this last letter, she would never make contact with me again – and it looked as if my only chance to meet her was now gone forever. To think that she would take my silence for disinterest, when I wanted nothing more than to find out who she was! Why did I have to become infatuated with this dangerous wench in the first place?

I groaned; I considered screaming, but then told myself that it would only gain me unnecessary attention.

Filled with anger, shame and disappointment, I quickly walked out towards the exit, before the attendant would come back.

 

When I arrived at home, I found Holmes hanging in his chair, with his feet close to the fire. I was muddy and dirty, and not in a good mood. Fortunately, Holmes did not ask me any questions but accepted my silence.

Half an hour later I emerged from my room, dried and washed, and sat on the couch. For a long time I did nothing but to stare into the fire.

Holmes looked up from the book he was reading. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” I closed my eyes and hated him. What had started as a funny little riddle had turned out to be water which was much too deep for me. Whatever was behind all this, I would not figure it out. I could ask Holmes, but then, was it even worth finding out? It seemed clear as day now that there was not merely an infatuated lady behind all this. And for anything else I had no interest.

“I just need some sleep”, I said. “I don’t think I’m going to last long tonight.”

Holmes smiled, looked own and turned the page.

All of a sudden, I had the strange feeling that something was not as it should be. I could, however, not put my finger on it.

Silence fell over the room again. My swallowing was audible.

Holmes reached out and took two lumps of sugar – with his fingers, not the sugar-tongs, as he should. He dropped them into his tea, and picked up a spoon and stirred the tea.

“Tell me, when did you become left-handed?” I said, and in the same instant understood what was not as it should be.

“I’m not left-handed”, said Holmes and gave me a long, forbearing stare. “If I were left-handed, I could have used the sugar-tongs. I’m not, therefore I use my fingers, although I know you disapprove of it.”

“Why are you using your left hand then?”

“I’m comfortable, and I don’t want to move a quarter of an inch. I’m warm here, close by the fire.”

I leaned back. My blood began to boil. “I have a sudden craving you hear you play. Will you play me something?”

“Not now.” He turned away, towards the fire, and picked up his tea with his left hand. His right arm was hanging loosely down the side of the chair.

I got up and walked over to him. When I tried to face him, he turned his head away indignantly.

“Watson, you’re taking all the heat of the fire away. I said I like it warm.”

“But I would just die to hear you play now”, I said. I would give him all the heat he wanted, soon enough.

“I’m not here for your amusement”, he hissed. “Now step aside. It’s getting chilly.”

I leaned against the side of the fireplace, breathed out and told myself to be reasonable, despite all the madness that was taking place around me. After a long silence I said: “This is unworthy of you. Stop playing this childish game with me. Now show me your arm. I might have done some serious damage.”

“My arm is fine. It’s only a bruise”, he said, still staring angrily into the fire.

“And how would you know? Now show me.”

With the air of an irritated child, he got up and struggled out of his shirt. It seemed pretty clear that he could hardly move his elbow joint. When I took his lower arm into my hands and carefully tried to move it indifferent directions, he never once looked at me. The floor was obviously much more interesting.

“What were you doing there?” I asked, while I squeezed his upper arm to look for any serious damage to the muscles.

“Preventing you from doing something very stupid”, he said and looked at me. “How can you just follow the mating call of an unknown female, without even worrying if she means well by you? It might just have been a trap, set up by someone to harm you, or to abduct you and blackmail me with it. Who knows what might have happened if I hadn’t been there!”

I felt hot with embarrassment. I had been so proud of my story so far, and now I was being scolded – and probably rightly so. He had probably found out much more than I had.

“What do you know that I don’t know?” I asked.

He sighed, and did not answer for a long time. “Too much”, he said finally.

“It’s nothing bad. Really just a bruise”, I said. “I can bandage it, if you think that’s going to help.”

He shook his head, and all the while the feeling of something being wrong would not abate.

“But you’ve had plans behind my back a lot of times”, I said loudly, while forming the thought. “You never bothered to let me know about it. Why are you being so ashamed about this episode now?”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“You know something that I don’t know. Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s best if you don’t know. Trust me. Don’t you trust me?”

“Not at the moment, I do not, no.” I sat down and put my head in my hands. And while I scratched my scalp and tried to figure out if I was more embarrassed, angry or disappointed, I realized what had been wrong all this time.

“Watson?”

I drew in a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry if I can’t tell you more right now. You must understand, this whole affair might be too big for you to get caught up in it. Please, just trust me.” His voice was pleading now. “Why don’t you trust me any more?”

“Yes”, I said. “A huge affair. The whole thing. Wonderful.”

“Watson?!”

“Yes, that’s me. Extremely.” I got up. Now I knew which emotion prevailed: it was anger.

When I stood before him, he began to shrink. His shoulders hunched forward, and he crossed his naked arms in front of his chest – but it looked more like a gesture of self-protection than defence.

“The missing top button of my nightdress”, said very slowly. “Who would know about that?”

“Anybody who ever spent time in the houses on the opposite side of the street over the last few months, at bedtime”, said Holmes promptly.

“To see a missing button over the whole street? How?”

“With a telescope, of course.”

“Yes, yes. I suppose there could be a strange lady standing in a room on the opposite side of the street. With a telescope. And watch me go to bed. Sounds possible, but just a little unlikely, doesn’t it?” I found it very hard not to scream.

“It’s the only solution that makes sense”, he insisted.

“Well, there’s a much more simple solution, don’t you think? There are two people who get to see my nightdress. That’s Ms Hudson, who gets to wash it, and you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Ms Hudson would never…”

I had never used physical violence against him, but now I hit him in the chest and pushed him backwards. Holmes did not put up a fight at all. He yielded.

“You are a scoundrel. What did you do it for?” His back had reached the book shelf now. I stared right into his eyes. “I would not mind you setting up a little riddle for me. In fact, it could be fun. But why, why did you have to knit it out of a love plot? You made a complete fool of me, and what’s more, an even bigger fool of yourself! Don’t you realize that you’re coming out of this looking like a complete ass?”

He swallowed.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

He swallowed again. “I’m sorry. It was stupid. That is all I can say for myself.”

“Yes, it was stupid, and cruel it was too! You sent me on a quest and then sabotaged me, just as I was about to solve it? What is going on in your head? Was it too much for you that I could cope with these easy little riddles you had made up? Couldn’t you at least, at the very least, finish the game and acknowledge that I had won? Do you even begrudge me a triumph when I’m playing in the playground you set up for me?!”

He shook his head. “You have won. There, I said it. I don’t mind admitting it.”

“Then what’s the reason for all this?!” Now I was screaming at him. “Why did you keep me from solving the last bit?”

Then it struck me. There was only one reason left.

I said slowly: “You didn’t want me to find out the solution. Now I wonder: Why do you set up a riddle with a solution, but then keep me from finding it? Because you thought better of it, and you didn’t want me to know after all. But back when you started the game, I was supposed to find out.”

Holmes stared at the carpet and shook his head. “This is silly. It’s late. Let’s go to bed and talk about this in the mor…”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I had a very bright minute. “It was your name, and our address.”

He knitted his brows together until they looked like one, and shook his head again.

I narrowed my eyes. “I know you too well. You act like a madman often enough, but there is always a reason behind it. If you make your name the solution, I’m supposed to make something of it.”

“Will you please let me go to sleep?” he said quietly. “I haven’t been feeling at all well lately. And it’s not helping that you are treating me like a criminal.”

“A criminal is what you are”, I said and slapped him on the chest with the bunch of letters I had collected. “For what you were trying to get me into, you might get up to two years.”

“Are you insinuating something??”

I breathed out again. “Holmes. If you don’t say it right now, I will feel impelled to break your legs.”

“I’d like to see you try”, he said and drew himself up to full height.

I stared at him. “Well, maybe not.” Then I turned around and walked towards the door.

When I laid my hand on the handle, I heard his pitiful, pleading voice.

“Watson! … please!”

“Yes?” I said coolly and turned around, but he just sat on the sofa, staring miserably in front of him.

“Can’t we just forget all this?” he asked, in a very small voice.

“No”, I said, shoved his shoulders into the back rest of the sofa and kissed him hard on his mouth. He did not return the kiss. He just kept breathing around my lips.

I leaned back, feeling not a little embarrassed. “Wonderful. Now I know what it’s like to kiss a marble statue. It’s Pygmalion all over. Are you planning to lie back and think of England?”

Suddenly, a happy smile began to creep onto his face. He looked at me, and his eyes nearly scared me. He was happy – not in the feverish way he was happy when he had an interesting case to solve, or the numb kind of happiness he sometimes found in his drugs. This kind of happiness was quiet, but glowing.

I grabbed the back of his head, and kissed him again, and this time he moved his lips against mine. It was then that I could not help laughing. I laughed against his baffled face, and laughed and laughed and could not stop.

“What’s so funny now? Do you find the way I kiss so hilarious?” he asked snappily.

“Why?” I crooned. “Why did you make it so hard? Did you never even think of some chocolates or a quiet talk?”

“I rather like my methods. They’ve brought me everywhere I wanted to get, so far.”

“Yes, and they brought you a hell of trouble, and a bruised arm, and they brought me a lot of unnecessary excitement and a lot of soaked underwear. Kiss me.”

He did, grudgingly, but he soon warmed up to my kisses.

“Well”, I said, “when I found out what kind of a person you are, I never expected to be able to keep my… versatility a secret from you for long.”

“No, you didn’t keep it for long, that’s true. But I held my mouth about it.”

“Yes, you do have these rare moments when you notice that just because you figured something out, it might not be wise to say it out loud.” I rubbed my nose against his. “But I never found out about your taste.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“Of course you didn't. All these nights you spent out in the city, in dark pubs and who knows what other places – now I’m sure they were not all business trips.”

“I know how to get my share”, he said, with a little trace of pride. Then, when he saw my gaze, he added: “No, not what you think. I know places like the Chrysanthemum, and I go there often – but I’m not careless enough to do more than looking at these places. If I commit any perversions myself, I do it with reputable people, like you. Oh, don’t look like that, I never came close to Saffron, I swear it. I did her a favour a long time ago, this is how I made her acquaintance.”

“And let me guess. The Chrysanthemum wasn’t nearly as dangerous as you tried to make me believe.”

“These people aren’t stupid. They have somebody watching the street all the time, so that their customers still have all their money when they arrive at the door. Besides, I would never endanger you. Unless it were absolutely necessary.”

“I see. Your unconditional love and protectiveness nearly makes me swoon.”

“Can I undress you?” he asked.

I had not expected this to go any other way. “By all means.”

“Wonderful”, he said, and undressed me.

 

Later, he was beneath me. But his hand was on top of mine, and held on so tightly that I was afraid he might break my bones. His lips were moving all the time, though he did not cried out, except when I bit him in the back of his neck a little too hard.

 

Never, not once in all the time we spent together, he said the words. But then, he was never a man to state the obvious.

The End.


End file.
